


Speed Dating for Scientists

by CurufinweAtarinke



Series: Curufin vs the World [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (heavily implied anyway), Aromantic Characters, Crack, F/M, Gen, Humor, i don’t even know if you can actually call this a ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 19:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16750435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurufinweAtarinke/pseuds/CurufinweAtarinke
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.Or, Curvo needs a baby mama and he needs one now.





	Speed Dating for Scientists

**Author's Note:**

> This was born from my attempts to reconcile my aroace curvo hcs with him having a wife and son. Pure crack.
> 
> Because the piped tags suck -  
> Tyelkormo - Celegorm  
> Irissë - Aredhel  
> Carnistir - Caranthir  
> Turukáno - Turgon

Tyelkormo can’t believe his ears at first.

“I’m sorry, you want to _what?”_ he blurts to an unfazed Curufinwë.

“I said, I want to have a baby,” Curufinwë repeats, “so that I can be Atar’s favourite son.”

“No, you’re going to have to elaborate on that,” states Tyelkormo, “because I still have no clue what you mean.”

Curufinwë sighs impatiently. “I want to be Atar’s favourite-“

“And you’re telling this to me, your direct competition?” Tyelkormo says, slightly incredulous. “Besides, you know Atar doesn’t play favourites.” Really, he shouldn’t be surprised. Curufinwë has always been competitive. Especially about their father.

Curufinwë raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Atar gives us all equal love, but I have a plan to get the most.”

“Again, aren’t I competition?” Tyelkormo asks, feeling slightly insulted.

“Well, are you?” Curufinwë replies.

“Not really, but still it’d be nice to be considered as much!”

“There, there, Turco,” his awful little brother says, “you’re such a threat I hadn’t even thought of a plot to surpass you.”

“That’s better,” Tyelkormo says. He lets Curufinwë get away with too much, probably, but it’s too late to do anything about it. “So, why would having a baby help that?”

Curufinwë sighs, “Honestly, can’t you guess?” Tyelkormo levels an unimpressed stare at him, and Curufinwë continues, “Fine! What does Atar love? Children! What does Atar want more than anything but won’t say for fear of putting undue pressure on us? Grandchildren! Therefore, I shall present him with the long awaited First Grandchild and thus be the favourite forever.”

It’s a typical Curufinwë scheme, grand goal, excellent reasoning but with a big hole that sinks the whole thing.

“You need another person for that,” says Tyelkormo, “unless your genius has far surpassed Atar’s and you have found a way to reproduce without the aid of another.”

Curufinwë waves him off. “Not to worry, I have a plan.”

-

“This is the worst plan,” says Tyelkormo. Next to him, Irissë is not even bothering to hide her guffaws of laughter.

“S-so,” she says, attempting to compose herself, “you’re just going to ask a woman if you can,” she pauses, struggling to control her giggles, _”use her uterus?”_ She loses the battle and collapses into laughter once more.

“Yes,” says Curufinwë. “Why, is there something wrong with that?”

“Is there something _right_ with that?” Tyelkormo murmurs under his breath, setting Irissë off in a fresh fit of giggles.

“Why wouldn’t she want to participate in making a baby? I’ll compensate her,” Curufinwë says.

 _”That’s even worse!”_ Tyelkormo cries.

“How is that worse?” Curufinwë says, and Tyelkormo honestly cannot believe he’s this dim about relationships.

Tyelkormo sighs. It’s not even worth the battle. “So, that aside, what are you even looking for in a wife? What sort of personality, what sort of appearance is your type?” He knows Curufinwë well enough to know that his brother will have at least some thoughts on this to help the painful process that this is guaranteed to be.

Curufinwë reaches into his pocket and pulls out an honest to Eru _list_ and Tyelkormo really hasn’t had enough to drink to deal with this. He takes the list from Curufinwë and stares at his brother’s scrawled handwriting.

“I hope you aren’t planning on wooing her with sweet letters,” Tyelkormo remarks. “Your handwriting is awful as always.”

Irissë peers over his arm at the list and grins. “Wow, I had no idea Curvo had such bad handwriting,” she says. “You wouldn’t think your father would let him get away with it.”

“Sadly, Atar allowed Curvo to get away with far too much as a kid, and now he’s got awful handwriting, terrible sleep habits and won’t eat most things.”

They both look up at Curufinwë, who is impervious to shame. “Yes, and?” he says. “Anyway, my handwriting isn’t important. What’s important is _on_ the list.”

Years of practice means that Tyelkormo is pretty good at decoding Curufinwë’s handwriting. “Let’s see... Noldo, preferably taller than you- really?”

“Well, I would like for our child to outgrow me,” says Curufinwë, the shortest of the Finwëans by some margin.

“Well, at least that’s not a difficult demand to fulfil,” says Tyelkormo in amusement. “Hmmm... _pleasing facial symmetry?”_

“I want our child to be beautiful, is that so wrong?” Curufinwë replies, without a single trace of embarrassment.

“No, but people don’t usually say it so... bluntly,” Tyelkormo says. Irissë is laughing again, and has sunk down onto a bench, clutching her stomach.

“How on earth do they make their wishes known?” Curufinwë asks, guilelessly. Too guilelessly.

“Is this a joke?” Tyelkormo asks suspiciously.

“No, but I’m not that stupid,” Curufinwë says. “I wasn’t going to show her _this_ list.”

Tyelkormo breathes a sigh of relief, then starts as he realises what Curufinwë said. “What do you mean, _this_ list.”

“Well, of course I have an indepth list of questions in order to determine her suitability as the mother of my child,” says Curufinwë. “I need to make sure that she has the intellect in order to ensure that our baby is an intelligent and creative child, as deserving of Atar’s first grandchild.”

Irissë is just gasping now, completely in hysterics. Tyelkormo half wants to laugh, half wants to cry. It’s just all so _peak Curufinwë._

“Anyway,” continues Curufinwë, “I came here to ask Irissë if she knows anyone suitable.”

Tyelkormo glances down at Irissë who is beginning to compose herself. “Do you know anyone?”

Irissë sits up, wiping tears from her eyes. “I don’t really, but Elenwë might.”

Curufinwë stiffens almost unnoticeably, and Tyelkormo grins. “Oh, but she might tell Turukáno, no?” he says, deliberately glancing at Curufinwë.

“It’s a sacrifice I am willing to make,” says Curufinwë through gritted teeth.

-

Elenwë comes through with a friend of a friend who might be interested in meeting Curufinwë, and who might be acceptable to Curufinwë’s exacting criteria.

They meet for the first time in one of Tirion’s leafy parks. Tyelkormo is, of course, lurking in a tree to watch. This is guaranteed to be amusing no matter what happens. Carnistir is next to him on a sturdy branch.

“Why have you brought your _knitting?”_ Tyelkormo hisses.

“I don’t know how long this will take,” Carnistir whispers, calmly finishing a row, “and I want to make something for the baby. Poor kid is already going to be Curvo’s, it may as well have a cosy blanket.”

“There is no baby yet!” Tyelkormo whispers back.

“It doesn’t hurt to prepare,” Carnistir replies, unconcerned. “Anyway, she’s here.”

The lady is much more striking than she is beautiful, with hawkish blue eyes and hair tied back into a severe plait to keep it out of her face. She also has about a head on Curufinwë in terms of height.

“So,” she says, and Tyelkormo and Carnistir do not need to strain to hear her clear, enunciated words, “you are the one who wants to use my uterus.”

Tyelkormo nearly falls out of the tree and has to grab onto a similarly stricken Carnistir.

“My name is Costamë,” she continues, “and yes, ‘Quarreller’ is an accurate description of me. Now, shall we discuss the details of our planned association?”

Next to Tyelkormo, Carnistir swears. “Somehow Curvo has managed to find the female version of himself.”

Tyelkormo nods in agreement, slightly dazed.

Beneath them, a strange contract is being hashed out. “We will have intercourse only until the child is conceived,” Curufinwë says.

“Agreed,” replies Costamë, “and I will carry the child to term, as long as I am allowed to write all details of my pregnancy down for a treatise which I plan on authoring.”

“Most acceptable,” says Curufinwë happily. “I will fund any research you wish for until our child reaches fifty years of age as long as you do not interfere in its raising after your initial duties such as feeding are over.”

“Until it reaches a hundred years,” Costamë replies, “and I will see it once a week after it is weaned. After the child is old enough, this will be raised to twice a week so that I may teach it mathematics and biology, my fields of particular speciality.”

“Very much agreed.” Curufinwë says. “Excellent, I had hoped that you would understand, but scarcely had I hoped for such a fellow scientist and researcher.”

“And I you,” replies Costamë. “I have been wishing to study the effects of pregnancy on a body firsthand, and track a child’s growth, but mothers can be so tiresome about privacy and my efforts to find someone to help me do it myself have thus far been fruitless.” She pauses and Tyelkormo takes the time to try and right his world from where it has apparently tilted.

“I cannot _believe_ Curvo has found his mind-twin or something,” Carnistir marvels. Beneath them, Costamë and Curufinwë are agreeing on the meeting time for their “intercourse”.

“Yeah, really,” Tyelkormo replies. Costamë is leaving now, apparently too busy to spend time with her husband-to-be now that the important things are finished with.

Curufinwë looks up. “I know you’re there,” he says. “I don’t mind. It’s good to have witnesses to my success.”

-

Curufinwë Tyelperinquar is born healthy and wailing in late spring. He is promptly presented to his adoring grandfather and great grandfather, who are ecstatic to have another baby to coo over.

Curufinwë beams at Tyelkormo. “Told you I’d do it.”

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” Tyelkormo replies. “Now, let me hold my nephew.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got Costamë’s name from this site: https://realelvish.net/names/quenya/valinor/people/personality/?pg=3
> 
> Costamë ends up loving Tyelpë, but she’s just too busy and not really the huggy, mothering type so she leaves most of that to Curvo who’s really happy with the whole arrangement.
> 
> If you like this fic, check out my tumblr: curufins-smile.tumblr.com


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